


First Kiss, Ten Ways

by Fever_of_Stingrays



Category: The Morning Show (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fever_of_Stingrays/pseuds/Fever_of_Stingrays
Summary: Ten oneshots imagining Alex and Bradley's first kiss for every episode.
Relationships: Bradley Jackson/Alex Levy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	1. In the Dark Night of the Soul It’s Always 3:30 in the Morning

“You’re good. Good luck in Ham-Hock, Virginia.” Alex says before gliding off the set. Her assistant hands her her glasses, another presses a coffee into her outstretched hand. 

Bradley shakes her head, baffled by the entire experience. Mia smiles and shoots her a thumbs up as she exits the studio. In the hall, she asks the nearest PA where the bathroom is—she drank so much fucking coffee her hands are shaking and her bladder feels like it is about to explode. 

“There is one right here, but I wouldn’t go in there if I—”

Bradley doesn’t wait to hear the rest of his warning before she bolts away shouting “Thanks!” over her shoulder. She throws the door open, and sees Alex Levy standing at the sink. 

“Oh. Hi.” Bradley says awkwardly. “Sorry, I had a ton of coffee.” She gestures toward the stall, feeling like an idiot.

It feels like an eternity before Alex deigns to acknowledge her. “It’s fine,” She mutters.

Bradley slinks into the stall and waits for as long as she can for Alex to leave. Surely she has to get back on air, Bradley’s final insult at _The Morning Show_ will not be Alex Levy listening to her pee. 

“Yanko is on for ten and then Daniel’s ranting about The Gilmore Girls Musical. I have twenty minutes.” Alex says, reading her mind. “But you can hold it if you want.” 

Bradley sighs. 

Alex is looking in the mirror, frowning at her reflection when Bradley flushes and heads to the sink to wash her hands.

“Don’t you have a dressing room?” Bradley asks under her breath. 

It’s been a long time since someone has brought out this nervy energy in her—it’s like begging for a scrap of attention from the prettiest, most popular girl in school. But Bradley isn’t an awkward, too short ninth grader anymore, she’s an journalist whose work was just questioned in front of an audience of millions. 

“It’s getting cleaned.” Alex says, a faint trace of mirth in her voice. 

Bradley fights the urge to roll her eyes as she dries her hands. “Well, thanks for having me on. It was thrilling to have my commitment to journalism questioned by you."

“Are you seriously still mad about that?” Alex asks, turning to look at Bradley, a look of amused disbelief on her face. 

Bradley blinks at her. “It was _five_ minutes ago! You tried to make me look like some conniving wannabe journalist! This is my _work,_ this is my career! I didn’t come up here so you could take out your anger at Mitch Kessler out on me. Deal with that on your own and leave me the hell out of it."

“So you didn’t mean any of the shit you had to say about America wanting trustworthy and transparent journalists? What was that dig about the ‘truth behind the facade’ for? Fun?” Alex shoots back. 

“Was I just supposed to sit there and listen to you say whatever the fuck you want about me? Is that the kind of journalism you are so hell bent on protecting?” 

“There is no fucking way you didn’t know a reporter screaming at a protester would get filmed, no one is that stupid.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ you.“ Bradley leans in close as she says it, satisfied at the flash of anger in Alex’s eyes. Her eyelashes are very long.

Bradley thinks Alex is going to call security or walk away. Alex shoving her to the floor seems more likely than what happens next. 

Alex makes a frustrated sound at the back of her throat, grabs Bradley’s head, and _kisses her_. 

On some level, is no more surprising than anything else that’s happened to Bradley in the last 24 hours, and it feels incredible. Anger and attraction and a rush of desire so strong that she is licking into Alex’s mouth and pressing her back against the sink. 

They spring apart as suddenly as they came together, both of them stunned.

“Fuck,” Alex murmurs, turning back to the mirror, trying to fix her lipstick. “I have to get to hair and makeup.” Her breath is ragged and it makes Bradley’s stomach do somersaults.

“What the fuck _was_ that?” Bradley asks, dumbfounded.

“I don’t know—testing a theory,” Alex says, her eyes wide.

Bradley is trying to take in what Alex is saying, but her brain feels like mush. “Yeah. Okay. Sure.” 

Alex looks like she wants to say something else, but she turns to leave. She mutters something under her breath as she slips out of the bathroom. 

Bradley can’t make it out, but it sounds like “Sorry.” 

She doesn’t know if Alex is apologizing for the kiss or being a bitch during her interview, but it’s something. 

The door closes and Bradley looks at her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t look like herself, she looks dazed and starry eyed and bewildered. She lets out a long, slow breath, willing her heart rate to drop back to normal. 

When she exits the bathroom, the PA is there with a look of studied nonchalance on his face. Bradley smiles at him, praying her face doesn’t scream “I just made out with Alex Levy in a bathroom,” but then, who on earth would believe what just happened between them? He offers to show her to the exit, and then disappears into the tangled hallways. 

The smirking cutout of Alex is the last thing Bradley sees as the elevator doors slide shut.


	2. A Seat at the Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise these will not all be in a bathroom but there is not a lot to work with in these early episodes!

“I don’t have the right to tell the head of a network to fuck off. I’m a nobody. I’m not you.” Bradley says. 

Alex sighs, a forceful exhale from between clenched teeth. “You’d be surprised to learn there isn’t much difference.” She winces at her reflection. “Christ, I look like shit.”

Bradley looks at Alex in the mirror. She doesn’t know what to say—it is empirically false, Alex Levy is probably the most beautiful woman she has ever seen in real life— but that doesn’t seem like useful information right now. 

Bradley glances at her own reflection and shrugs. She looks like a Barbie version of herself, but there isn’t much she can do about it until she’s back at the hotel with at least three bottles of makeup remover. She looks at Alex again, so intensely that Alex shifts her glance from herself in the mirror and meets Bradley’s eyes. 

“I _am_ sorry.” Bradley says quietly. Alex doesn’t say anything, she looks at her watch, the band bright red like her jumpsuit, like the color rising on her cheeks. It makes something in Bradley’s chest twinge. “Seriously, I’m sorry about all of this. Are you okay?”

Bradley watches, stunned, as Alex’s eyes fill with tears. She tips her head back, swearing. “Fuck, are you kidding me? I have to go back out there; get me a fucking paper towel.” 

“Jesus, I am an idiot, I am so sorry—take these,” Bradley stammers, pressing a fistful into Alex’s hand. “You just seem really...alone.” 

“You are a fucking ball of sunshine, aren’t you?” Alex says, shaking her head. “Is there anything else you want to tell me about my depressing life before I go out there and accept this bullshit award?” 

Bradley blushes a little, feeling sheepish. “No. Sorry— I should go.” As she goes to leave, Alex reaches out wrapping her fingers tight around Bradley’s wrist. Bradley stops dead in her tracks, stunned by the feeling of Alex’s skin on hers.

“I am not okay.” Alex mumbles, almost imperceptibly. She’s staring at her reflection like she’s daring herself to cry again. 

Bradley’s heart aches a little. It’s a strange feeling to have, because she doesn’t really know this woman, but she knows what it’s like to feel lost. Something about Alex pulls at her. It’s not just that Alex is beautiful—she’s angry and sad and defensive. Bradley understands that. 

Impulsively, she twines her fingers through Alex’s. Alex looks surprised, a small smile tugs at her mouth. 

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know.” Bradley doesn’t want to make her cry again, but she wants to say something. 

“I have to get out there.” Alex says. She doesn’t move, so Bradley doesn’t either. They’re still holding hands. 

“I’ll be at the table, if you need...a friendly face,” Bradley offers lamely. She regrets it immediately. She’s sitting at the table with Alex’s husband and daughter, why on earth would _her_ presence be comforting? She’s only there because Cory Ellison is an evil genius who is far better at playing with people’s heads than he lets on. 

“That would be nice.” Alex says softly.

Something about the way that small smile flutters around Alex’s mouth and the way she sounds when she says it—grateful but reluctant— makes Bradley tug her hand and pull her a little closer and….kiss her. It’s just for a second, just the gentle press of Bradley’s mouth against hers, but it is _absolutely_ a kiss and Bradley is mortified. 

“I...have no idea what that was. I’m so sorry. Jesus. That was...I don’t even know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Alex doesn’t look mad, she looks amused. They’re still holding hands. 

“No, that was an insane thing to do, gosh, I am so embarrassed.” Bradley can feel how red her face is, she cannot make herself look at Alex, she is going to die right here in this bathroom.

“It was sweet.” Alex says quietly. She gently lets go of Bradley’s hand, running her hands over her jumpsuit, shifting her weight on her heels.

Bradley takes a step back and watches as Alex packs all her feelings away, preparing to be _The Morning Show’s_ Alex Levy for the public. The change happens so fast—she tilts her chin up and throws her head back and smiles that megawatt smile. It’s a little sad, a little awe inspiring, a little terrifying. 

Bradley doesn’t know what to say. She can’t stop looking at Alex’s mouth. She blushes, suddenly convinced Alex can hear her thoughts, can hear Bradley thinking about her mouth and her collarbones and how good she smells. 

“Okay well. I’ll see you out there.” Bradley manages. 

Alex heads toward the door, and Bradley wonders if anyone would notice if she spent the rest of the night in the bathroom. 

“Bradley.” Alex’s voice startles her.

She whips around. Alex is leaning against the open door, either not noticing the woman who is trying to come into the bathroom or purposefully ignoring her. “I’ll see you out there.” She grins, cocks her eyebrow and is gone in a flash of red fabric and expensive perfume. 

Bradley sighs, dropping her shoulders. She has to get through tonight and then she can go home and put everything about The Morning Show and Alex Levy behind her for good. She tries to do what Alex did, put on her game face, but the tips of her ears are still red. 

When Bradley gets back to the table she makes a concentrated effort to not look at Alex or her husband, sliding awkwardly into her seat and listening to Maggie Brener. Bradley can’t resist glancing at Alex when she rises to collect her award. There is a determined look on her face, but Bradley doesn’t know what to make of it. Bradley is thinking about how soon is too soon to leave —she doesn’t want to be rude, but this dress is tight and her feet are killing her, and then she notices the suits at the network table shifting awkwardly in their seats and tunes back in just in time to hear Alex announce Bradley as her new co-host. 

Cory is grinning at Bradley in the slightly manic way she has come to expect from him. Her ears are ringing and she is trying to make sense of what just happened. Alex’s husband just kind of raises his eyebrows at her, and she cannot even begin to process _that_ and then Alex is at her side, whispering in her ear. 

“Don’t look too surprised. Stand up.” 

What else can she do? She stands.


	3. Chaos is The New Cocaine

“I don’t like being used.” Bradley says flatly. 

Alex sighs, hands on her hips. “Oh my God. Could you just try like, taking advantage of the situation presented? That sounds like something you might enjoy.” 

She is still trying to hold on to that glimmer of power she felt up on the 50th floor. She is exhausted and exhilarated, like she has been watching the events of tonight from outside her body. Alex doesn’t know what she’s done, and when she looks at Bradley there is a tug in her gut that she cannot explain. 

After Cory put Bradley at her table and left her with no options, well, Alex saw an opportunity and took it. She likes being on the offensive. It is thrilling. Intoxicating. 

Bradley is looking at her like an injured puppy. It’s annoying, but against her better judgement, Alex finds it endearing.

“Come on,” Alex says. “I need a drink.” She spins on her heel and whips out of the studio, not waiting to see if Bradley is following her. The hallways are silent, but Alex can feel the tension, she knows everyone is locked in their respective offices trying to figure out why the fuck she did what she did. 

Bradley is a few paces behind Alex when they reach her dressing room— Alex waits for her to catch up before opening the door and locking it behind her. 

She gestures to the couch as she drops her coat on her chair. “Vodka or Tequila?” 

“Of course you only drink clear liquor.” Bradley mutters. She’s tapping her foot, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, arms crossed. She looks miserable enough that Alex feels a little guilty about what she has set in motion.

Alex hates feeling guilty. She rolls her eyes and cracks open the tequila; presses a glass into Bradley’s hand. 

“Cheers,” she says, sighing in relief as the alcohol works its way through her body. She watches as Bradley knocks back her drink in one smooth gulp, then takes her hair down, letting the soft brown waves settle over her shoulders. 

Alex realizes that she is staring and wonders what has gotten into her. She takes another sip, trying to look anywhere else. 

Bradley’s collarbones are lovely. 

Alex finishes her drink. 

“I’ll do it,” Bradley says suddenly. “If you tell me why you did.” She turns her head and looks at Alex, bright blue gaze sharp and focused. 

Alex shifts, trying to take the weight off the balls of her feet. She doesn’t have an answer—not one that Bradley would understand. How can she explain what her life has become, who she has become? How can she tell a woman she barely knows that she sat next to Mitch for fifteen years, that she knew him better than anyone, that she loved him and hated him in equal measure with equal force? That she knew what he was doing, that she knew it was wrong and she knew it wouldn’t matter. 

How can she explain what it feels like to have been tricked into believing the lies you were fed about yourself, believing that you held some modicum of power, only to realize that it was all smoke and mirrors to keep you complacent? That as the smoke clears, Alex has found herself staring at the reflection of someone she didn’t recognize? 

For a second, Alex wishes she was the kind of person who knew how to open up. She finds herself wanting to confess to Bradley that Mitch’s words haven’t stopped running through her head, that she was panicked and scared and wanted to call _one_ shot for once. _They were going to replace you._

Alex tries to form the words, but it feels like her tongue is glued to the roof of her mouth. She sighs and shakes her head. 

“I needed to get the ball back in my court.” Alex sits down on the couch and kicks off her heels. She refuses to acknowledge the tightening in her stomach when her thigh presses against Bradley’s. 

Bradley makes a sound that could be a laugh or a huff of disapproval. She slides her shoes off, grabs the bottle of tequila and shifts to face Alex on the couch, tucking her leg neatly underneath her. 

“And I’m your ball?” Bradley drawls as she refills her glass. 

There is something in her voice, something hovering around the edges that makes Alex feel hot. She holds out her drink, gesturing for a refill. Bradley gives her a heavy pour, laughing at the look on Alex’s face. 

“Jesus, I can’t drink all that.” Alex says, eyeing Bradley suspiciously. 

“Live a little, Alex.” 

The adrenaline of the night is slowly wearing off and shifting into a buzz Alex is familiar with— slight blurring at the edges of her vision, limbs loose and relaxed. 

“What did they say to you up there?” Bradley asks. She glances up at Alex, then down to her drink, the floor, their reflection in the mirror. 

Alex laughs humorlessly. “Honestly? I don’t even remember. There was something about disrespect. Putting the future of the show in danger. I’m reckless.” 

“If I try to remove the fact that it is _my_ life you just fucked with,” Bradley says slowly. “I can almost understand it. The position you’re in…” she trails off, unsure how much she wants to divulge about her assumptions about Alex’s life. 

“Yes, quite,” Alex says shortly, then sighs. “Sorry. Force of habit. I’m...not used to this.” she says, gesturing at the space between the two of them. 

Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Conversation? Honesty? Friendship?” 

Alex snorts in response: “All of the above?” 

“Jesus.” Bradley says. She takes another sip of tequila and leans forward. “What do we do now?” 

Alex doesn’t have an answer. She looks at Bradley, slightly surprised to see concern traced along the contours of the other woman’s face. It makes her feel unsteady. 

“We finish these,” she begins, raising her tumbler. “Then we go home, sleep it off, and come back tomorrow to start getting you prepped for Monday.” 

“You think they’ll let me on air?” Bradley asks. There is something in her voice that Alex recognizes—nerves and fear, sure, but underneath it— determination. Longing. _Wanting._ Alex knows that feeling, she remembers the fire it lit under her fifteen years ago. She prays she still has it. 

“I don’t think they have much of a choice,” Alex says, running a hand through her hair, still heavy with product. “Maybe they’ll be able to figure something out—move you to a correspondent position—but they’re going to have let you sit next to me for a while to save face.” 

Bradley nods and a determined look flashes across her face. “I’m not going to promise I won’t fuck up,” she says. “I don’t have the _best_ track record.” 

“You will,” Alex says shrugging at the offended look on Bradley’s face. “Just a fact. It’s not like any reporting you’ve done before, and it's harder than it looks.” She can feel herself getting defensive, so she takes another sip of her drink, marveling at how little is left in the glass. 

“I know that, Alex.”

Alex likes how her name sounds in Bradley's mouth, how her accent stretches it into something softer. 

Everyone assumes it’s short for Alexandra. The truth is, her father was dead set on having a son, and was too stubborn to change his mind when Alex was born. She made peace with her name a long time ago— she likes how blunt and hard edged it is. But she hears it in varying tones of disappointment these days: chidingly from Chip, despondently from Jason, condescendingly from Fred, bitterly from Lizzie. Bradley says her name easily, almost fondly. It’s nice. 

“Sorry. I’m just…” Alex trails off, not sure how to finish her sentence. She squints at her drink and realizes her glass is empty. 

“Not used to this, I know. It’s okay.” Bradley finishes her drink and stands up, holding out a hand to Alex. “We should get out of here before someone important tries to talk to us. I am officially too drunk for that.” 

Alex sighs and nods. The tequila catches up with her once she’s on her feet, she weaves a little.

Bradley puts her hands on Alex’s waist to steady her. “Easy there, killer,” she says through a grin. 

“I _told_ you that fucking pour was too big,” Alex says, trying to get her equilibrium back. 

She is trying to ignore Bradley’s hands on her body. 

Bradley laughs, a light, easy sound that makes Alex’s heart hammer in her chest even harder. “You did.” 

Her hands are firm and surprisingly strong for such a tiny person. Alex can feel the heat of them through her jumpsuit. Unbidden, a vision of her hips impressed with Bradley’s hand prints swims in front of her eyes and makes her shiver. 

“I should call my driver,” Alex mumbles, feeling her face flush. She takes a step back from Bradley, wills herself to remain steady. “I can drop you off at your hotel,” she offers as she digs in her pockets for her phone. 

“I’m fine, I can get a cab,” Bradley says easily, shrugging on her coat. 

Alex rolls her eyes. “Bradley.” 

“Alex.” 

They look at each other, both a little exasperated, a little amused. Bradley tilts her head as she regards Alex, then takes a step closer. 

Alex is a deer caught in headlights; rooted to the floor. 

Bradley takes another half step. 

Alex wants to say something but her limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated and the knot in her stomach feels too much like desire. She takes a deep breath and meets Bradley’s eyes, forcing a word from her mouth. 

“Bradley?” Her name is a question now, one that Alex doesn’t know how to ask, but Bradley answers. 

She pins Alex against the vanity and kisses her. 

It takes Alex a second to understand what is happening— one minute Bradley is looking at her, the faintest trace of a smirk on her face— the next, Alex is being pressed into the table behind her and Bradley’s tongue is in her mouth.

It is a disaster in the making, but neither of them can stop, they are all desperate hands and lips and teeth. Somehow, Bradley manages to get Alex on top of the vanity, so Alex wraps her legs around Bradley’s waist and bites her bottom lip. 

_"Alex."_ Her name, desperately from Bradley.

It's the best it's ever sounded.


End file.
